


Gestalt

by PaigeTurner



Series: Gestalt [1]
Category: Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-16
Updated: 2013-01-16
Packaged: 2017-11-25 16:47:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/641018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaigeTurner/pseuds/PaigeTurner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki escapes from Asgard and begins his revenge against those who defeated him. Set about a year after the end of the movie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Extenuating Circumstances

**Author's Note:**

> Gestaltism is a theory of the mind and brain, the operational principle thereof is that the brain is holistic. The principle maintains that the human eye sees objects in their entirety before perceiving their individual parts, suggesting the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. Of that definition, which is cribbed from Wikipedia, the last bit is the part I remembered from High School psychology. I could think of no more apt description for the Avengers than “the whole is greater than the sum of its parts”.
> 
> Special notes for chapter 1: Canon-typical violence, death of original characters, poorly written action scenes.

“Thanks for coming with me,” Tony patted Bruce on the shoulder. “This isn't my usual.”

“Nervous about your presentation?”

“ I've presented to the Department of Defense. I've spoken at my own hearing. I've dealt with crowds twice this size,” Tony scoffed.

“But half as smart,” Bruce teased. “Did you know it was a dry event when you signed up?”

“No,” Tony sulked. Without a glass of scotch to anchor his hand, he tended to gesture like an Italian grandmother. Or a stereotype of one, anyway. “And I’m up.” He darted up the stairs at stage left as an announcer finished introducing him. Slipping his tablet onto the lectern, he looked out into the crowd as though trying to make eye contact with everyone individually.

Bruce’s phone rang and he slipped his hand into his pocket, silencing it as he glanced down at the screen. Tony was just getting warmed up on stage and Bruce slipped out the back.

“I want you to come to our New York facility,” Fury began. “ We've got something here that could use your perspective.”

“What is it this time?” Bruce inflected a tired annoyance he didn't quite feel, but then again…he wasn't overly fond of the director.

“I’d rather explain everything once everyone is assembled.” Fury hedged. “When can I expect you?”

‘How’s never sound?’ Bruce thought. But that word, assembled, stuck in his head. “I’m out of town. Vancouver, with Tony. I think we’re heading back in a few days.” He tried to sound non-committal as he started the walk to the hotel.

“ Didn't realize you were still hanging around with Stark. You know people will judge you on the company you keep.” Fury was lying, and clearly delighted that Bruce and Tony were becoming friends.

“That’s why I've been steering clear of you,” Bruce replied, relieved when Fury chuckled.

“Is that why? I’m scheduling the briefing for tomorrow, 14:00. Should give you time to unpack.” Fury disconnected before Bruce could object. The scientist shook his head and started packing. He knew Tony would want to leave immediately. He’d take any excuse to suit up and execute some heroics.

***

Steve and Thor were waiting in conference room A of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s New York headquarters when Bruce and Tony arrived. Tony strutted, Bruce slunk. They claimed the vacant seats nearest the door.

“We were only gone two days, “ Tony cooed. “You really missed me that much?”

“What’s the situation?” Bruce addressed Fury directly.

“Unfortunately,” Director Fury answered, “It’s a threat you know all too well.”

“Loki has gone missing,” Thor explained. “He vanished from Asgard four days ago. It has taken me that long to arrange passage here.” He shifted uncomfortably; both Steve and Tony seemed primed to object to the delay. “There’s no reason to suspect that Loki has returned to this realm, or even that he is capable of such a thing,” Thor assured them. “I merely thought it prudent to warn you.”

“Where are Agents Barton and Romanov?” Steve asked. “They should be here for this.”

“They’re on a mission,” Fury waved him off. “Unless we have evidence that Loki is here and that he’s a threat, I can’t risk compromising it.”

“Until,” Tony muttered.

“Loki’s a threat, wherever he is,” Bruce observed.

“I’m looking at this as more of a courtesy, a little FYI, not a warning, nothing dire.”

“Pretty sure Goldilocks would've told us if you hadn't,” Tony retorted. “IT’s not like he has to go through you to contact us.”

Bruce chose to intervene before Nick and Tony could start their verbal judo. “You said on the phone you had something you wanted my help with. If you just wanted to disseminate information, Tony and I could still be in Vancouver.”

“That’s true,” Fury nodded. “I’d like, and Mr. Stark – if he’s willing – to take a look at what Drs Foster and Selvig have been working on. Theories on inter-dimensional travel. Not your area of expertise, I know, but they seem to need a fresh set of eyes.” He glanced from Bruce to Tony. “Or two.”

“Or two and a half,” Tony remarked. “I’m in. Dr. Banner? It’s another chance to be in a room where everyone has a doctorate except me.”

“Actually, Dr. Foster brought along a research assistant,” Fury said.

Bruce hesitated. “You’re looking for what? Patterns? Other similar events? My understanding is that it’s a type of energy burst…”

“ We've got them holed up in a lab off-site,” Fury replied. “You’d be better off talking to them directly about our goals and their progress. Captain Rogers…” Steve looked up at his name. “I’d like to head up the security team for the lab.”

Steve nodded. The looming excitement of science was enough to distract Tony and possibly even Bruce, but the specter of Loki weighed heavy in the captain’s mind.

Tony grinned. “Where’s my lab?”

“Captain Rogers, if you would show Dr. Banner and Mr. Stark to OUR lab,” Fury replied. “It’s still S.H.I.E.L.D. property when it’s offsite.”

“I promise to play nice with your toys,” Tony smirked, wondering how the Director managed to pronounce the periods in his organization’s name. Fury gave him a dubious glower. “I won’t do anything I wouldn't do in my own lab?”

Fury looked slightly horrified at that notion. “Dr. Banner, please discourage him from doing anything you wouldn't do.”

“He turned himself into the Hulk!”

***

“Mr. Stark, Dr. Banner,” a young-looking agent addressed them from the doorway of the lab. “Director Fury has requested that you come with me.”

“ We've barely gotten started,” Bruce replied.

“I’m still reading Jane’s notes,” Tony complained. “We won’t have anything for him for a couple days.” And JARVIS was still working on re-entering the computer systems.

“This takes precedence over the research,” the agent stated. “He has a mission for us.”

Bruce slipped off his glasses. “What kind of…”  
“Search and rescue.”

“Barton and Romanov?” Tony guessed.

The agent threw a glance towards Jane and Darcy. “Fury hates it when I spoil his briefings.”

Steve was huddled in a jet with a handful of agents and Thor, escorted by another agent, was right on Bruce and Tony’s heels as they crossed the tarmac.

“We had a mission near go tits up. The team in Zipaquirá lost contact with Agent Romanov and Agent Barton seven hours ago. Due to some extenuating circumstances, we’re pushing the timetable for extraction up to immediately.”

“They’re not exactly part of our standard extraction protocol,” the agent who had brought Bruce and Tony gestured to all four of the Avengers.

“Extenuating circumstances, Agent Morse.”

“That Loki’s new code name?” Tony replied.

“If you’d prefer to stay at the lab, I’m sure that can be arranged,” Fury said coldly.

“Tony’s not wrong, though, is he, Director?” Bruce leveled a very calm gaze at Director Fury. “You wouldn't bring us along if you didn't suspect Loki’s involvement.”

“I suspect a lot of things, Dr. Banner. I’m a suspicious man by nature.” Fury’s offhand manner was infuriating. “Loki or not, they’re in trouble. I thought they could count on their friends in high places.”

The flight was too long by half. Tony spent most of his time fiddling with the repulsors in his boots. Four avengers and eight agents, plus the team on site, seemed like a lot of manpower to Bruce. More people meant more trouble, always.

The sun was high when they stepped off the Jet in Bogata. An agent waited with a pair of trucks. “Afternoon, Agent Morris,” Fury greeted him without a smile.

“Uh, it’s Harris, sir,” the agent stammered.

“Sitrep, Agent Harris.” He climbed into one of the trucks, gesturing the Avengers to follow. The agents were piling into the second truck.

Agent Harris obliged by pulling up a map on his tablet as the truck lurched into gear. “Here’s the mission site,” he pointed. “We found Agent Romanov’s wig here, Barton’s com-link a meter away. Romanov’s com and her shoes were here, about a half kilometer from the checkpoint. None of Volsted’s men survived. We've got three bodies at the checkpoint, which leaves one agent unaccounted for.”

“Agent Saunders?”

“Killed, sir.” Harris shifted in his seat. “Arrow. In through the eye, out through the neck,” he indicated a spot just behind and below his right ear.”

Fury looked down at his tablet. “Why wasn't the arrow mentioned in the initial report?”

“Saunders’ body wasn't discovered until after that was sent.”

“Get Hill on the line as soon as we get to the safe house. Get the Argonaut in range and send me Sitwell and Wallace.”

The Zipaquirá team consisted of four agents, including Agent Harris. Agent Morse set to work dividing the all ten junior agents into smaller teams. She put their senior agent Kaye, on one team and assigned Bruce, Thor and Steve to the other three. Tony suited up, wishing for the first time for something less conspicuous, and offered to do aerial recon.

“Stay high,” Fury said, without looking at him.

***

“There’s a plantation about two kilometers north-northeast of here.” Morse reported. “Locals said it was deserted, but Stark says there are men and trucks coming and going. Some fresh tire tracks at the base of the drive but I didn't want to get too close.”

Fury glanced at the mission clock on his tablet. “Stark, tell me you have video.”

“I stayed high,” Tony said. “Like you said. Even zoomed and enhanced, there’s not much to see from that angle, that distance. They mostly work through the night, so there’s that…” He interfaced his HUD’s camera feed to Fury’s tablet.

Fury studied the footage in silence. He paused it. Backed up. Frowned. “Get the teams ready. We’ll hit in an hour. I’ll put the carrier on standby. Prep medical.”

Agent Morse and Stark exchanged a look. Fury pointed to a figure unloading a crate from the back of a truck. “That’s our missing agent from the checkpoint, Kowalski.”

“How can you possibly recognize him from that?” Tony asked, gesturing to the tiny blurred image.

“You ever see Kowalski in short sleeves, Agent Morse?”

She blinked at him, then peered at the screen. “No. But I’m guessing you have. And I’m guessing he has a violation of Dress Code regulation 7 on his left forearm.”

“A…what? Oh. That’s a tattoo, isn't it?” Tony caught on, staring at an inscrutable smudge peeking out from below the sleeve as the man on the video stretched his arms out to grasp the crate. Fury was gone when he looked back up.

“You rally the Avengers, I’ll prep the agents.” Morse gave him a grin. “We found them.”

***

Fury suspected he had at least one more rogue agent. Stark’s observations indicated that the farm would be near deserted as dawn approached. Instead they found it buzzing with mercenaries, brainwashed men and what he assumed was the contents of the crates: armed combat drones. The mansion was on fire and a building they had identified as a garage was swarming with robots. There was a stable further down the driveway where most of the men took cover when the S.H.I.E.L.D. team arrived. Fury had one group to set up a perimeter and flush the mercenaries out of the stable. Agent Sitwell led the charge into the garage while Agent Wallace and his team made their way towards the house.

There were acres of orchard and vineyard and miscellaneous land to secure and at least some of the bots had aerial capabilities that made containment a nightmare. Iron Man kept chasing them down, and the Hulk seemed to enjoy leaping after them, like a cat chasing a laser pointer, but he wasn't terribly effective.

“We’re pulling back,” Wallace’s voice crackled over the communicators. “The fire’s too much, the building’s a loss.” Captain America ducked into the burning house as S.H.I.E.L.D.’s forces evacuated. Meanwhile, the skies were darkening even as the sun crept up, and a rumble of thunder brought a smile to Tony’s lips.

“Stand clear,” Thor shouted. A bolt of lightning struck the hammer and electricity arced over several of the robots, overloading and short-circuiting them.  
A truck roared out of the garage, men shooting from the back and windows and several agents fell back. Hulk leapt onto the hood of the truck, crushing the front end into the ground and sending those in the front seat flying into the windshield. With a roar, he brought his massive fists down on the roof of the cab, the men in the back of the truck scattering only to be cut down by a hail of gunfire from Agent Sitwell and his team.

“I have Hawkeye,” Captain America announced. “I’ll need some help getting him out of here, I still haven’t found Loki or Black Widow.”

“On it!” Iron Man responded. “Get him clear, I’ll take over the search.”

“First floor is clear,” Captain America advised.

“First floor is an inferno, Cap, you might consider jumping out a window.”

Captain America picked up his shield left-handed and slung it over his back, kneeling near Clint’s slumped form. He couldn't toss a helpless man out of a second-story window. He slung the archer into a fireman’s carry, ignoring a flare of pain in his right shoulder and retreated to the stairwell.

Iron Man dropped through a skylight into the mansion and started down the corridor, blasting doors on both sides and quickly glancing through each into darkened and abandoned rooms. “JARVIS, crank up the sound system,” Tony instructed.

“Stand back from the door,” his voice boomed over the external speakers. He repeated the instruction every few doors but found only empty rooms. He could feel the heat of the flames through the armor; surely that was just his imagination. There was a loud crash from the ground floor.

“Sir,” Jarvis said, “I believe the building’s structural integrity has been compromised.”

“Uh-huh.” Something caught Tony’s attention. There was a sizable dent in the frame of one of the doors. Possibly from Captain America’s shield. He had to be close to where Hawkeye had been found. “And where there’s smoke, might there be fire?” He knocked down the door. Natasha was splayed out on the floor, a chain around her wrists travelling up to the ceiling.

“I need a medical team on the roof of this building ten minutes ago,” Iron Man broadcast.

“The roof of the building that is on fire and about to collapse?” Agent Wallace clarified.

Iron Man stepped out into the hallway and blasted a hole through the ceiling. “The roof the building that I’ll be on in three seconds.” A cutting torch powered up on the right gauntlet. He grasped the chain firmly in the left hand and cut above his grip so Natasha wouldn't be dropped to the floor. Scooping her up, he reiterated, “I have Black Widow. Need medical.” When he flew through the opening he had created, a pair of medics waved to him from a helicopter hovering just inches above the roof top.

“We don’t dare set down,” one of them shouted over the roar of the rotor. Iron Man carefully deposited Black Widow onto a stretcher, heading back into the fray without a word.

Hulk, Thor, Captain America and the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents had been busy while he’d been inside. A handful of mercenaries were cuffed near the stable, and the ground was littered with robot parts.  
“There’s no sign of Loki,” Fury announced. “ We've got our assets, let’s wrap this up.”

***

By the time Tony had divested himself of the armor and showered, Fury, Thor and Bruce – his hair still damp from a shower of his own – were seated in undersized plastic chairs near the helicarrier’s medical bay.

“Where’s Steve?”

Bruce pointed towards the medical bay. “Gunshot wound to the right shoulder.”

“Pft, that all? So he’ll be out here in, what, five minutes?” Tony smirked. “How about, uh,”

“No word yet.”

Tony settled into one of the vacant chairs and pulled out his tablet. “Now what?”

“We’re running the facial recognition software on Loki again. When he shows up, we’ll be ready,” Fury answered.

“Ready with what?” Tony asked. “We apparently can’t build a cage that can hold him, here or on Asgard. Can he be killed? Incapacitated? What are our options here?”

“Any idea how he escaped from Asgard?” Bruce asked.

Thor sighed. “He has…supporters there. It is believed that one of the guards may have been an ally of his.”

“And the problem on the helicarrier wasn't the cage, he had people come and spring him,” Fury observed.

“So,” Bruce concluded, “if we find him, if we capture him, we have to lock him up somewhere that no one can get to him.”

“Guards are fallible,” Tony muttered, accessing something on his tablet. “Maybe a prison run by an AI. Not JARVIS, too soft-hearted, but something immune to his trickery and manipulations.”

“He…he can be killed,” Thor said softly. That got even Tony’s attention. “Heimdall provided me with a blade that can end Loki’s life. If it comes to that.”

“Let’s start with Stark’s prison idea,” Fury said. “I’ll put together a team…”

“No,” Tony interrupted. “No. And no. Your TEAM,” he sneered the word, “has fucked up every part of this every step of the way. I’ll take Banner, Thor, maybe Jane if she has something to contribute. Snag some trustworthy R & D people from Stark Industries…”

“If we find him, we can flip a coin over who gets to keep him,” Fury grumbled. His gaze shifted to the doorway and his demeanor changed abruptly. “Dr. Kirkpatrick, you look like you have news for me. How’s Captain Rogers?”

Dr. Kirkpatrick was tall and thin with a shock of hair the same color as his lab coat. He grinned. “He’s a goddamned medical marvel.” The doctor stuck a cigarette in his mouth. “Every time I see that kid, I’m more impressed with Erskine’s work. It’s already healing.” He patted down his pockets for a lighter. “Gave him an aspirin and a Band-Aid, he’ll be right as rain in no time.”

Fury nodded. “That’s good to hear. And Barton?”

“Mild concussion. Little smoke inhalation. Ah ha!” He pulled out a zippo. “Little dehydrated too. He’s awake but disoriented and combative. You want him sedated? Tell me quick before I light this.”

“No. No sedatives. You give him anything?”

The doctor shook his head and lit the cigarette. “Water. With a straw. He’s restrained.”

“Take that up on the deck,” Fury ordered.

“Oh, shit, right.” He hurried off.

“Is that guy for real?” Tony asked once the doctor was out of earshot.


	2. His End of the Bargain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Runs simultaneously with Chapter 1, retelling the story from the perspective of Clint, Natasha and Loki.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Graphic Violence. Rape/Non-con. Death of a non-character. The plotline can be followed without reading this chapter if you find the content too unpleasant - it’s very dark. What happens here will be referenced in later chapters, but I’m trying to keep most of the really graphic content contained to one, skippable, chapter.

Agent Abel Saunders combed his short steel-grey hair. Layered over his undershirt he had, in order: a recording device and microphone, body armor, two concealed pistols, a prosthetic ‘beer gut’, a dress shirt in an expensive robin’s egg blue silk blend and a suit jacket perfectly tailored to fit over his enhanced form. He slung a tie around his neck.

“You should let me do that,” Agent Natasha Romanov said, gesturing to the tie. Her coiffed blonde wig perfectly suited the gold and cream color scheme of her outfit. “I’m your wife,” she added, slipping into a heavy Hungarian accent. “It’s my duty.”

Abel laughed and leaned into the mirror to knot the tie. “Not for another fifteen minutes, you’re not.”

Natasha coated her lips with burgundy.

Agent Justin Kowalski frowned. “That’s too dark,” he complained. “Especially with the blonde.”

“Lena picked it,” she replied. “Henry? How do I look love?”

“Young enough to be my daughter,” Abel replied.

“Mm, but I’m not.”

“My daughter? Or young enough?”

Natasha laughed. “How are your kids?”

“Drew just started college.”

“You really should let Natasha help you with that,” Justin interrupted. “I can tell you tied it left handed.”

“I am left handed. He’s going to NYU, so he’s home every weekend.” Abel sighed and undid the tie. “Help an old man get dressed, would you?” 

“And undressed,” Natasha purred, taking the tie in her perfectly manicured fingers. 

“Melinda would have your head if she could hear you.”

“Kowalski, pat me down, we’re almost out of time.”

Agent Kowalski obliged, running the backs of his hands over her ribcage, under her breasts and up and down her long, bare legs.

“You know, I’m seeing someone,” she remarked as he knelt, stealing a glance up her skirt. 

“You’re clean,“ Justin replied, standing up hastily. “What did I miss?”

“Who’s the lucky fellow?” Abel asked.

“A knife, a garrote and his name is Bruce.” 

Justin frowned. “Where’s the knife?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Did Bruce help you hide it?” Abel teased lightly, tucking a pistol into the back of his waistband. “There’s a magazine on my right ankle.”

“Can you even reach it?” Natasha patted the fake belly. 

“Has Hawkeye checked in?” Abel asked.

“He’s in position,” Justin confirmed. “Henry, Lena, good luck out there.”

***

‘Get Natasha and get out.’ A singular thought invaded Clint Barton’s mind as he watched “Henry” and “Lena” negotiate with the thugs below. He notched an arrow to his bow without realizing he had done it. There was something both alien and familiar about the thought. It had come from outside. He let the arrow fly. 

One of Volstead’s thugs hit the floor, an arrow protruding from his chest. Barton had gone early. Why had Barton gone early? Agent Saunders was tearing open his shirt, pulling out the pistols as his hands passed over their hiding place. He tossed one to Natasha and collapsed. 

Natasha caught the weapon with looking and fired on Volstead. The mission was lost. No salvaging it, the only concern now was getting out alive. And getting Barton out alive, damn him.

She made sure Volstead and all of his men were dead, that they wouldn’t be followed. She ditched the wig outside, heading towards the checkpoint with Clint in tow. Agent Kowalski met them about half a kilometer from the checkpoint, alone and carrying a backpack.

“The checkpoint’s been compromised,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “Either of you hurt?”

“No,” Clint replied. Natasha shook her head. Everything had gone so wrong so fast. She had a good idea of how.

“We better get moving, there’s a safe house but it’s a pretty long walk.” Kowalski looked at the two of them. “Saunders?”

“Dead, I think,” Agent Barton replied. “I saw him go down.”

“He’s dead,” Natasha confirmed, her voice expressionless.

“That’s a shame.” Justin handed them each a bottle of water. Natasha cracked the seal and drank deeply. 

“What happened at the check…” She blinked slowly then fixed Agent Kowalski with an accusatory stare. She looked at the water bottle in her hand. “You…sonuva…” She swooned and Clint caught her easily. She felt the brush of his fingertips pulling her communicator out of her ear. Justin was slipping the shoes off her feet and she was floating.

***

The first thing Natasha was aware of was a dull ache in both arms. It stretched from her shoulders up to her fingertips; her arms were pulled high above her head. She tried to flex her muscles but whatever Kowalski had drugged her with was still having an effect; she couldn’t move. She opened her eyes slowly.

The room was small and dim. She could see the chain that bound her wrists looping over a pulley in the ceiling and descending to a winch near the door. A card table stood next to the winch. She could make out the familiar shape of her pistol on the table, along with a knife, two pairs of pliers and a hand sledge. Kowalski had sold them out, but to whom?

Natasha wanted to believe that she could trust Clint. It had taken her decades to find someone she could trust. She thought of Agent Saunders and the familiar fletching sticking out of his eye socket. Clint hadn’t been the same since the Chitauri, whether it was Loki’s influence or Phil’s death or some combination thereof. The person she trusted had gone missing a year ago; she’d seen only glimpses of him since.

The door swung open and Clint stepped inside. Natasha looked him over with a critical eye. No cuffs. No signs of injury. And he was still armed. He moved to the side to allow Loki to enter the room behind him and Natasha stiffened. Loki smirked. His words replayed in both of their minds.

‘Not until I make him kill you. Slowly. Intimately. In every way he knows you fear. Then, he’ll wake long enough to see his good work and when he screams I’ll split his skull. That is my bargain.’

“Long time, no see, Agent Romanov,” Loki said genially. “We parted on rather bad terms last time. But I want you to know, I’m still willing to uphold my end of our bargain. Your end…” he chuckled. “Your end is simply to die weeping.”

Her eyes flicked to Clint.

Loki followed the gesture. “Perhaps…perhaps if you beg. Once I’m satisfied with your suffering, if you beg, I’ll kill him first. Quickly. Mercifully. Do you believe that I can be merciful?”

“I believe,” Clint answered earnestly. 

Natasha said nothing. She didn’t trust herself not to scream if she opened her mouth. ‘It’s only torture. Remember your training,’ she focused inward. Clint took a knife from a sheath on his thigh, approaching her slowly. She still couldn’t move. Couldn’t even flinch or twitch. He cut through her blouse and skirt without being mindful of her skin beneath. He cut her bra off slowly, deliberately pressing the blade against her flesh. Warm blood welled to the fresh cut and he followed the trickle with the tip of the knife to the waistband of her panties. He slipped his fingertips under the fabric and smiled faintly as he ripped the panties away. 

Clint sheathed the knife and licked the blood, pressing his tongue to the cut on the underside of Natasha’s breast. She didn’t even look at him, her eyes locked on Loki. Clint unbuckled his belt and slid it from its loops around his waist. He stepped back, stretching the leather taut between his hands. Grasping the buckle firmly, he swung. The belt made a sharp, satisfying snap as it connected with Natasha’s body. There was a low creak and a quiet clunk as Loki turned the winch. Natasha rose until the tips of her toes barely touched the carpet. Clint nodded. 

He circled her casually, striping her thighs, back, buttocks and chest with welts from the belt. The blows drew blood where they overlapped but Natasha’s jaw was set, her eyes hard and cold. He stopped when his arm began to ache from exertion and let the belt fall to the floor. She felt the calloused pads of his fingers on her hip, sliding down her leg and jerked back. Some movement was beginning to return to her limbs. 

Clint grasped her leg firmly with both hands, stroking down to her foot. He looked up at her face and waited. When he caught her eyes, he broke her toe. He was rewarded with a small, pained noise. It was muted and quickly cut off, but it was a start. He moved in quickly, hand under her thigh, pulling her into him as he kissed her. Just as quickly, he slipped back down to her foot and broke another toe. Natasha gasped. Clint approached again but this time Natasha twisted, bringing her knee into his ribs. He grunted and fell back, anger flashing in his unnaturally blue eyes. 

When he advanced, Natasha threw a low kick. He sidestepped and the movement made her twist on the chain. She swung back to face him and kicked again. This time, he caught her leg and wrenched, bringing his elbow down. A wet crack wrested another pained cry from Natasha. A hard, fast punch landed across her jaw. Another creak and clunk resounded as she came back down, far enough to put both feet solidly on the ground but she kept her weight off her injured leg. 

She watched Clint walk over to Loki. “I enjoy the sounds she makes,” the trickster God remarked. “Keep them coming.”

“Whimpers?” Barton asked. “Or screams?” He picked up the hammer from the table. 

Loki’s smile was nauseating. “Both.” His voice was little more than a whisper, his eyes dark. Clint’s smile was a shadow of Loki’s as he approached. He flexed his arm, testing the weight of the hammer. Natasha didn’t look at it. His touch was light, gentle. His fingers traced the bruises and welts forming on her breasts. The little cut, already scabbed over, received a firm press of his fingertip. Clint’s gaze skimmed over her marred flesh and he dropped suddenly to one knee and brought the hammer down. 

Natasha’s shriek was brief and loud, followed by a quick whimper as her broken toes came down on the floor. Clint’s left hand wrapped around her ankle, pulling, and her vision went white as her injured knee was forced to straighten. The hammer fell again. Natasha stifled the scream, nausea rising with the pain. Her eyes stung with tears and she let them fall. If Loki wanted her to suffer, she should let her pain show. When Clint released her, she pulled both feet off the floor, letting her tormented shoulders take her weight again. 

She felt the cuffs digging into her wrists, her fingers mostly numb. She forced herself to steady her breathing. Clint turned away again. The hammer landed with a heavy thunk on the table. “Bring her all the way down,” he said in a strained voice. 

“With pleasure,” Loki purred. He released the winch and let her crash to the ground. She curled her legs in. The relief in her shoulders was instantaneous. Her body still felt heavy and weak. By the time the drugs wore off enough to give her a fighting chance, she’d be too badly injured to make a move. She tried to flex one foot and winced. So the goal was to survive, and keep Clint alive, until a rescue could be mounted. By now, someone would know that the mission had gone south. That thought made her realize that she had no idea how much time had passed since they met up with Kowalski or how far they had traveled. 

Clint was crouching over her, his hands on her legs. He pushed her thighs apart and she tensed.

“No.” Her voice was firm. It wasn’t a plea or a denial but an order. It worked. He hesitated. He had already unfastened his pants; Natasha could see his hard-on poking out of the fly. Clint hit her, then hit her harder. With the third punch, Natasha shut everything down. She stared through Clint. 

_She felt, as though from a great distance, the head of his cock pressing into her entrance. She was flat on her back, staring up at the snow falling from the sky. It was 1953 and she was on the outskirts of Magadan. Natasha whimpered as his weight pressed down on her._

She was so tight, so painfully dry as he forced his way in. Short, hard thrusts carried him deeper and each was rewarded with another soft whimper. He grunted and she uttered a keening cry. His passage eased as her tender flesh tore around him. Clint was pumping into her hard, sweating with the strain. 

_Tears raced down her cheeks and vanished into her hair. Pain burned between her thighs. The snow was falling heavier and thicker and she would freeze to death if she wasn’t found. She thought the Red Room might let her die. They might leave her alone in the cold. Between the swirling flakes, beyond the heavy clouds, she could see the stars._

Natasha had goose bumps despite the warmth of the room and the heat of Clint’s body working over her. He entwined his fingers in her hair and tugged sharply. Her face was wet with tears. 

“You’re pretty when you cry,” he whispered hoarsely. He sounded surprised by the admission. Natasha looked at him. The snow disappeared. She screamed wordlessly. It brought a smile to Clint’s lips. He grunted and came inside her with a guttural cry. Panting, he withdrew. Natasha shivered uncontrollably. She was still shaking as Loki raised her back into the air. Cum and blood trickled down her thighs. 

“You’ve done well,” Loki said. “Rest a bit.” Clint crossed the room, zipping and buttoning his pants as he walked, and sank down on the floor, resting his back against the door. Loki selected a knife from the table and as he approached, she recognized it. Her own sharp, deadly blade gleamed in his hand. He’d brought her up high enough to keep her feet off the floor. Loki worked patiently, shallow cuts, slivers of skin peeled back. He saw where the handcuffs had drawn blood at her wrists and set to work degloving her right hand, humming an old Asgardian battle hymn under his breath. 

A knock at the door made Loki pause in his humming. Clint opened the door to a hallway, empty save for a tray of food. He picked it up and brought in inside.

“For me?” He gestured to the tray, looking at Loki with a slight frown.

“I want you to keep up your strength. Eat, then rest.” Loki smiled fondly at the archer before returning his attention to the bound assassin. He could pry nothing louder than a moan from her lips. It was only the hitch and gasp and sigh of her breath that indicated her pain. Clint ate, huddled by the door. When he finished, he slipped the tray back out into the hall and leaned back against the door once more. Eventually, he dozed. The cuts on her skin began to add up. 

Loki strolled back to the table, wiping blood off the knife with the remnants of her skirt. He lowered the chain a bit. If she’d been able to stand up, she probably could’ve brought her elbows down in line with her shoulders, useful for a lot of things. As was, she tried to position her legs to minimize the damage to her already broken knee and feet. 

Loki circled behind her, giving her a wide berth until he was out of her line of sight. She felt his hands, smooth and cold. His thumbs circled over her lower back, making the welts there bleed anew. Loki slipped his left arm around her waist, his fingers digging into her hip to keep her still. He hoisted the petite redhead with one arm, pulling her backside up against his groin. She stiffened in his grip as she felt bare flesh pressing against her. 

Loki’s erection probed, not at her sex but at her anus and Natasha began to struggle. His arm was a like a vise, he was so much stronger than he looked. She screamed as he forced himself inside her and his free hand covered her mouth. 

“Hush, now, we don’t want to wake him,” Loki whispered. Clint was slumped against the door, snoring faintly. The Jotun’s thrusts were slow, deep and powerful. The pain was incomparable, and there was a strange buzzing in Natasha’s head. She couldn’t slip her mind away. She was caught in the moment. Moment after moment stretched into time she couldn’t measure, couldn’t track. 

Another knock rattled the door. Clint shook his head, instantly awake. He glanced at Loki and Natasha. His face was curiously blank. He got up and retrieved another tray from the hallway. 

“Savor it,” Loki instructed. “When you are finished eating, you will serve again.”

Clint nodded and sat on the floor, cross-legged. He was close enough for Natasha to smell the food. Loki removed his hand from her mouth, allowing her to scream or whimper as he alternated deep thrusts with shallow, slow with fast.

Nearby, Clint chewed dispassionately. He glanced up at them between bites. Natasha had never seen Agent Barton eat so slowly. Hoarse whimpers punctuated each stab of Loki’s sex. The God was humming again. His right hand wandered over her wounds, pinching a wheal on her breast, prodding the cuts that decorated her skin. 

Clint neatly crossed his fork and knife on the plate, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and picked up the tray as he stood. He deposited it back in the hallway. Making sure the door closed behind him, he walked back to Loki and Natasha. She didn’t look at him. Clint dropped into a fighting stance and immediately threw a punch. Her head snapped back and Loki grabbed her hair with his right hand. 

It was like a heavy bag. Cross and jab, high and low, he pummeled Natasha. The strength of the blows sent her body rocking back into Loki. The two men worked into a rhythm, with Loki timing his thrusts to Clint’s punches. Natasha squirmed between them, blood and tears trickling down her cheeks. They were both in close, she had a chance.

Natasha wrapped her middle and ring fingers over the thumb of her right hand, index finger pointing to the ceiling. She clenched down her fist with all the strength she could muster and felt her thumb pop out of joint. The flayed, bloody flesh would make it easier. Twisting her arm and yanking, she pulled her right hand free of the cuffs. Immediately, she popped it forward, punching Clint in the throat. 

Agent Barton stumbled back, gagging. Loki’s arm left her waist to grapple with her wrist. “Drop her!” He snarled. Clint staggered to the winch and released it. They crashed to the floor. Natasha landed face down, Loki on top, still inside of her. The carpet muffled her scream. She reached back with her freed hand, clawing for Loki’s face. Pinning her wrists, he slammed into her. Clint took her right hand, bracing her arm in his grip while Loki fumbled with the empty cuff. 

Natasha struggled, breathing hard. Loki pressed the open end of the cuff against her arm. As he spilled his seed into her, he forced the metal through her arm, latching the cuff around her radial bone. As the final shudders of his orgasm passed, he withdrew. Natasha’s vision went black at the edges. 

Clint rolled her onto her back as Loki stood up. Loki went to the winch, raising Natasha’s arms into the air, her shoulders pulled up off the carpet. Clint pulled a box of wooden matches out of his pocket. He lit the first one and, with the pad of his thumb, pressed its head to her lips. Her eyes fluttered open. He waited. When her eyelids slipped closed, he lit the next match. It went to the hollow that base of her throat, guttering out against the pale flesh. Her eyes opened again, this time accompanied by a low moan. 

The door opened, then closed, and they were alone. Clint tested the response the small flames earned from different parts of Natasha’s battered body. Her thighs got no reaction except the opening of her eyes. Her breasts got a small gasp. One tucked into her ear won him a shriek and a shake of her head. Pressing a lit match to her clit made her howl and her legs twitched convulsively. 

There were a half dozen matches remaining when Loki returned. He took the matchbox from Clint and handed him Natasha’s pistol. “Finish this,” he said firmly. “Our enemies are at the gate. I want you on the roof in five minutes.” He kicked Natasha in the ribs as he turned to walk away. 

Clint looked at Natasha appraisingly. She was pale, shivering, her skin cool beneath his fingers. He caressed her bruised and swollen cheek, his gaze slipping to the pistol. He checked the clip and chambered a round. Clint patted Natasha’s thigh, an odd gesture that, under normal circumstances between them, might have seemed reassuring. 

He parted her legs and knelt between them, placing the barrel of the gun at the opening of her sex. She whimpered in protest, then in pain as he pushed it inside. He stopped when the trigger guard rested against her skin. He waited until her screams stopped and her breathing began to slow. 

“You ready, Tasha?”

She had no strength left. No weapons. Nothing to fight with. Or for. But Loki’s enemies were at the gate, if she could stall for just a few more minutes, they might be saved. She focused her vision on his face, locking eyes. “Not yet,” she whispered, enunciating as best she could. 

Clint frowned. He could smell smoke. “Okay,” he said. He pulled the gun back and Natasha uttered a strangled cry. “Okay. Maybe you’ll bleed out before the fire reaches this room.” He stood up and started to walk out. Clint looked back over his shoulder, his eyes clouded with sorrow, his brow knit in concern. “Maybe…maybe I’ll see you on the other side, Tash.” There was a note of hope in his voice. 

_It was 1936, eight days before Christmas. She had fallen through the ice while learning to skate on Lake Siverskoye. She could swim, but the water, so cold, seemed thick as mud. Her soaked woolen coat pulled her down. Her lungs ached. She reached upward, stretching towards the dim grey light of the sky. The figure leaning over the hole in the ice was familiar, as was the voice calling her name._

The door opened, and Iron Man saw red. Red blood splattered onto the wall. Red so dark it was nearly black saturating the carpet. Red hair that fluttered with the burst of air his entrance caused. A chain hung down from a pulley in the ceiling, attached to a set of cuffs on Natasha’s wrists. The chain -- he followed it with his eyes to a winch near the door-- was long enough for her legs to sprawl across the bloody carpet but not long enough to let her shoulders rest on the floor. A lot of the blood flowed down her right arm; coating her skin from her wrist all the way to… she was naked. Naked and bloody and bound and….  
‘Dead,’ Tony thought. ‘It’s too late. I’m too late. And she’s…’

_The hand that reached down through the icy water was gleaming silver, the grip on her wrist strong but gentle. Winter Soldier pulled; the pull of the water, the weight of the coat and the slip of a girl within were no match for his great strength. What filled her lungs was not the bitter cold of the winter air, but his warmth as he breathed into her._

Natasha raised her head slightly, her right eye focusing on the crimson and gold armor. Her left eye was swollen completely shut. The movement was enough to spur Iron Man to action. 

“I need a medical team on the roof of this building ten minutes ago.” His voice seemed to be coming from such a great distance. Distorted as though she were underwater. 

Iron Man retreated from the room, a blinding flash originated from one hand. There was a tremendous crash; Natasha could see the debris falling around him like snow. 

“The roof the building that I’ll be on in three seconds.” A cutting torch powered up on the right gauntlet. He grasped the chain firmly in the left hand cut above his hand so Natasha wouldn’t be dropped to the floor. Her head had dropped back onto her chest. Iron Man awkwardly half-knelt to lift her. Natasha reached towards him but when her head lolled back, her eye remained unfocused. He could see her trembling.

_Winter Soldier unzipped his coat, pressing her to his chest. Natasha’s head rested on his shoulder. He wrapped the coat around both of them as best he could and set off for the house at a dead sprint._

The paramedics secured the stretcher as the chopper began its ascent to the Helicarrier. 

***

The woman who emerged from the Argonaut’s medical bay had a thick black braid, threaded with silver, which reached nearly to her waist. She’d never be five feet tall, but seemed to make the most of what height she had. She was buttoning her lab coat to hide the blood on her scrubs when she saw Nick Fury. To his left sat a rumpled and exhausted looking man in a button down shirt. To his right, a dark-haired man in an Iron Maiden shirt, fiddling with a tablet computer. A seat down from him was an enormous blonde, clad in armor, sleeping with his head resting back against the wall.  
Nick stood to greet her as she made for the coffee machine in the corner. “Dr. Khandalavala, what can you tell me?”

The other men perked up, looking at her. She sighed.

“She’s alive.” 

The disappointment was palpable. 

“That all you got?” Fury said disbelievingly.

“Give me forty-eight hours, I can tell you that she’s likely to remain that way.” Dr. Khandalavala dumped four sugar packets into a Styrofoam cup and poured the coffee in on top of them. Nick glared at her. “I’ve done everything I can for right now. She needs…I hate to say it, but she needs to be a little stronger. I can’t put her through surgery until she gets stronger. Give me a month, I can tell you if she’s going to walk again. Give me three,” she paused to sip the coffee. “I might be able to tell you if she’s going to dance.”

“What are we looking at?” Fury asked. 

“You want this alphabetical, top to bottom, or in order of severity?” She glanced at the other men. “Do you want to go into my office to discuss this?”

Fury followed her gaze, shook his head and shrugged. “Top to bottom, with a sidebar on severity.”

“Well,” the doctor began, “I can start with some good news. No sign of brain injury. I’d still like to do a CT, since there’s some obvious facial-cranial injuries, but the initial exam looks very promising on that front. One eye is swollen shut but the damage is superficial. The eye itself looks ok, pupil is reactive, no hemorrhaging or scratches on the cornea. The bad news is a fractured zygomatic bone, fractured mandible, very likely some damage to the teeth. You’ll want a specialist in facial reconstruction to consult on that. You set a broken cheekbone wrong, you’ll change a person’s whole appearance.” She looked Nick straight in the eye as she spoke. “I can give you some names in my written report.”

Fury sat down. “This is going to be a long list, isn’t it?”

“Bruises, lacerations, and small burns, superficial damage present pretty much everywhere. Neck brings us more good news, no damage to the spinal column. Moving down, the bad news: dislocated shoulders, broken clavicle, severe puncture wound on the right forearm.” The doctor drew a deep breath. “Partial degloving of the right hand, I’d estimate as much as 65% of the skin was removed. And a dislocated thumb on the right hand. Between the nerve damage, the circulatory damage and the risk for infection…” She gave Fury a serious look. “We’re probably going to lose that hand.” 

“What?” Tony stammered.

“At the elbow.”

“You’re talking about amputating? Isn’t that a little drastic?” Tony objected

“I’m talking about preserving her life,” Dr. Khandalavala replied, her eyes never leaving Fury’s face. “It’s not a decision to make tonight, but we’re going to have to make it soon.”

“You said no surgery until she was stronger,” Nick pointed out.

“That gets infected, or gangrenous, she’s not going to get any stronger.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Next?” Fury pressed.

“Minor lacerations on her left wrist, consistent with being bound. All five fingers on the left hand are responsive to stimulus.”

“And that’s not the case on the right?” Nick clarified.

“Insufficient response from the thumb and first two fingers. Moderate response from the ring finger and the pinky. Nick, they…they put the handcuffs through her right arm. The damage is significant.”

Fury rubbed his temple. “Take it. If you have to take it, take it. She’s not pulling a trigger with that hand ever again, right?”

“We’ve covered head, shoulders, arms…collarbone. Five broken ribs, her left lung collapsed. En route, actually, it may have,” she paused and looked at Tony for the first time. Her dark eyes were apologetic. “It may have been the stress of moving her.”

Tony leaned back in his chair and looked down at the floor.

“You were the one who brought her out, weren’t you?”

“I didn’t mean…I tried to be careful,” he mumbled to the floor. 

“It wasn’t your fault. What you did was nothing short of extraordinary. She’d certainly be worse off if you’d left her. Even if you’d waited for medical personnel…”

“They couldn’t get to her,” Tony replied. “The building was on fire, it was coming down. There wasn’t time.”

“You did well.” 

Tony looked at her. “I try hard.”

The doctor gave him a small smile. “Ok, ribs, lungs…mild smoke inhalation too. More of the same lacerations, bruises, and burns, and there are sections of flayed skin on her back that appear to form runes.”

“What do they say?” Thor asked.

Dr. Khandalavala blinked at him. “I have no idea. Barring infection, they should heal without causing any problems. The internal bleeding was a greater concern. I pulled the spleen, repaired the liver and kidneys. Currently no sign of further bleeds. There is rectal and vaginal tearing, consistent with sexual assault. Genetic samples have been sent to the lab.”

“Contraception?” Fury asked, point blank.

“She has an IUD in place. No damage to the pelvis, no damage to the femur. Right patella dislocated. Broken toes and meta-tarsals in both feet. As far as a treatment plan goes, we’re looking at working with four or five specialists.”

“Five?”

“Let me tap my mental rolodex here. Dr. Alma,” Dr. Khandalavala began ticking off fingers, “A maxillofacial reconstructive surgeon based out of Salt Lake. Dr. Huerter, from New York, for a prosthetic, if it comes to that. Dr. Li, from Houston, specializes in knee injuries for athletes. The hardest to get, unfortunately, but my top choice for the job, Dr. Televich. Originally from Minsk, he travels with the Russian ballet, repaired a stress fracture for the prima ballerina two years ago. And a psych consult.”

“I’m calling in Dr. Chisholm to treat Agent Barton, I’ll put Natasha on her schedule,” Nick said, nodding slightly.

“Natasha hates Dr. Chisholm,” Dr. Khandalavala objected.

“Dr. Chisholm is the only one I trust to deal with Romanov.”

She glowered at him and stood up. “Maybe if you thought of her as a person who needs help instead of a problem to be dealt with, you would see-“

“It isn’t your call,” Nick replied, also getting to his feet. 

“Should it be yours? I know you have her best interests at heart, Nick, I do. But you cannot force wellness upon her. You cannot force help. Get Dr. Caldwell. Agent Romanov likes and trusts Dr. Caldwell.”

“Last time she saw Dr. Caldwell, she lied to her face. That’s less than helpful to everyone involved. I’m putting her with Chisholm.”

Dr. Khandalavala shook her head. “You send a telepath in there, Nick, and you will lose her.”

“Telepath?” Tony interjected. 

“Dr. Chisholm has a gift that makes her uniquely suited to dealing with particularly difficult…”

“Natasha is not difficult!” Dr. Khandalavala objected. “She’s…complex. Convoluted, even. Dr. Caldwell has a…rapport with her. Please, Nick, give Sue a chance. Give Natasha a chance. Don’t…”

“Don’t what?” Fury asked softly.

“Don’t let that woman violate her mind. She's been well and truly violated already.” The doctor’s voice was soft and she looked at the director plaintively. 

“I’ll have Dr. Caldwell do an initial assessment. If I’m not satisfied, I’m switching Agent Romanov’s care over to Dr. Chisholm.” 

“All I asked for was a chance, Nick. Thank you. I’ll call you if anything changes here, and I’ll have my findings and recommendations on your desk tomorrow.” Dr. Khandalavala finished her coffee.

“Or the day after,” Fury replied, “Physician heal thyself. You need some rest.”

“Good night, Nick.” She smiled at him.

“Good night, Nora. Good work in there.” He watched her as she retreated to the medical bay before turning his attention to the Avengers. “You lot should get some rest too. You alright, Dr. Banner?”

Bruce hadn’t moved during Dr. Khandalavala’s run-down of Agent Romanov’s injuries. Even the impassioned argument with Fury over the psychiatric care hadn’t brought any change. He sat very still, with his hands folded in his lap, breathing steadily and deliberately. He blinked slowly, turning his head towards Director Fury like an owl. “I’m not feeling green; the Other Guy’s too tired from the fight for that.” He paused. “I am a little queasy. Half numb, like Novocain wearing off.”

“Kitchen’s always open here, doc. Get yourself a cup of tea and some shut-eye. You aren’t green, but you are pale.”

Bruce nodded. Tony stood up and offered him a hand. “C’mon, Bruce, I’ll keep you company. Thor? You usually want to eat after a battle, you in?”

“I’ve lost my appetite,” Thor said, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. “I’ll see you on the morrow.”

Nick Fury watched them depart before heading into the medical bay. He wanted a word with Agent Barton before he called it a night.


End file.
